


Interlude: Lantern Slides

by theherocomplex



Series: Guitar and Video Games [4]
Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Apritello, F/M, Pre-Relationship, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-23
Updated: 2014-09-23
Packaged: 2018-02-18 13:53:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2350742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theherocomplex/pseuds/theherocomplex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snapshots spanning the month between "Auld Lang Syne" and "Slant, Slip, Slope".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interlude: Lantern Slides

**Author's Note:**

> A lovely anon on Tumblr asked me what happened after the New Year's Eve party. Well, ask and ye shall receive.

**_January 1_ **

April doesn't look up from her laptop when she hears her window slide open. The footsteps that land on her floor are nearly silent, and her reflection in her screen smiles faintly back at her. She knows those footsteps as well as her own. 

"Hey, you," she calls over her shoulder, scanning the email one last time for typos. Her heart starts to thud against her ribs, a hot spike of adrenaline flaring through her. "I hope you're hungry, I ordered from India House, and you _know_ how huge their servings are." 

"Oh, I know," says Donnie. "But uh, you don't like Indian food. You never eat it when we get it down at the lair. I mean," he adds, flustered, talking too fast, "not that you _have_ to like Indian food, I just know you have other preferences, and I don't mind if you — you know what? I'm just going to say _thank you_ , and shut up, okay?"

From the corner of her eye, April can see him hovering just outside her bedroom, slouching to fit into the doorway. He's wringing his hands, his cheeks dark with a miserable flush, and it takes everything she has not to fly across the room and soothe it away. She has to be careful, she has to be sure. Donnie has to believe. 

"It's not my favorite," she says, with her voice light and cheerful. She hits send and shuts her laptop, turning in her seat to grin at him. "But the last three times you've come over we've ordered from Murakami's, and I don't want you to get sick of pizza gyoza." 

The flush fades away as Donnie rolls his eyes. "Like that'll ever happen. That's like Mikey getting sick of Antonio's or old lady lasagna." 

"Hey, don't knock the old lady lasagna," April says, laughing as she stands and stretches. She spent the afternoon clearing out her inbox, getting ready for the new semester, and her back is stiff from sitting so long. "Food should be here in about ten minutes. Got any preferences for the movie?" 

"Uh, not really?" The flush creeps back into his cheeks, and he doesn't quite meet her eyes when she stands in front of him. "I was kind of surprised when you invited just me over. Mikey always comes to movie nights." He rubs the back of his head. "And I figured Casey would be here." 

It's not jealousy coloring his thoughts, or if it is, it's such a demure subspecies that April can't sense it. What she feels is a broad, shallow sense of bemusement. _Why the attention?_ says Donnie's thoughts, and Donnie's posture. _I'm not used to being looked at. Please don't look too closely. All the cracks will show._

She doesn't taste self-loathing; what Donnie feels is deeper than that, a resignation to what he is, and what he won't have. It tastes like dust, an apology, the air in a still, stagnant room closed too long against the light. Like boundaries, self-imposed and never tested; April's never seen him step over them, just like she's never seen Donnie take that final step, and cross into her bedroom. There are lines he will not cross. 

She'll have to lead him.

"Casey's working," she replies, easy as rainwater sliding down a window. For the millionth time, she's unspeakably glad he can't sense her thoughts, because now they're a roil of frustration and longing: frustration at herself, for letting him feel this way, longing for how well she thinks she would fit in the curve of his arm. "And after last night, I thought you'd want a night away from the lair. It got pretty noisy." 

"It got worse after you left." Donnie steps to one side to let her out of her room, his mouth twisting as he remembers. There are dark shadows under his eyes, smudged like soot stains, and the slouch doesn't leave his shoulders, only grows more tired. "Raph and Mikey got into an argument about clean-up, and it took Leo almost an hour to calm them down. Practice was _really_ fun today." He smiles down at her as she flops on the couch, toeing her feet into her slippers. "So yeah, it's nice to get away for a while." 

April pats the cushion next to her. "Well, you're welcome to stay as long as you want. My Netflix and wifi are at your disposal." 

Donnie sits down next to her, almost close enough to put his arm around her, but not quite. "You're an angel," he tells her, his smile lopsided and almost too fond, and just like that morning, his smile disappears as soon as he realizes what he said. "I mean — uh —" 

"Angel or not, I plan on spending the night not moving from this couch once the food gets here, so pick something good." April hands him the remote before Donnie blushes himself into silence, smiling as their fingers brush and a warm tingle of pleasure flows through her at the contact. "Just nothing too gory, okay? I haven't recovered from when Mikey tricked me into _Audition_." 

Donnie laughs, low and tired. "Yeah, I don't think Leo has either." He yawns, trying to hide it in the curve of his arm, and grins sheepishly when April raises an eyebrow at him. "Sorry. I should have napped after training, but I got so wrapped up in finishing Mikey's 'chuks that I lost track of time, and then it was time to come over here." 

She reaches out — _careful, be careful with him_ — and squeezes his shoulder. "You could have stayed home and slept, Donnie." Seeing the circles under his eyes up close makes her almost wish he had; Donnie needs sleep, but has an almost pathological resistance to getting it.

"I want to be here," he says softly. His gentle, fond smile reappears, and April smiles back, her heartbeat speeding up, her mouth going dry. 

_I could tell him now. I could tell him everything._

She opens her mouth — she's actually forming his name — when the intercom buzzes, and they jolt apart. April hadn't even realized how close they'd been until the harsh note fades out of the air. Somehow, without her noticing it, they had turned to face each other, like a pair of hungry vines, ready to twist together. How often over the years had it been like this? How many times had they orbited each other, and she never saw it? 

"Food's here," Donnie says. 

"Yeah," she says, not wanting to look away, wanting to spin the moment out until the ache in her hands turns sweet. Even this hesitation, this balancing act, is a pleasure almost too keen to endure. "I should get it." 

The buzzer sounds again, managing to sound twice as impatient without changing a note, and April heaves herself off the couch with a groan. "I'll be right back." 

"I'll be right here," says Donnie, watching her with a frown. She feels a hint of his thoughts — confusion, heat, desire, shame — and she tells herself not to tease. She has to be _careful._

She forgets to grab her wallet on the way to the door, too preoccupied with yelling at herself to remember it's in her purse in the kitchen, not on the table by the door. By the time she's paid and gotten the food inside, Donnie's slumped sideways on the couch, fast asleep. 

April stares at him, not disappointed so much as amused — because, really, what did she expect? Nothing is ever easy. 

Nothing _worthwhile_ , that is. 

She sets the bag of food down long enough to ease a pillow under Donnie's head and throw a blanket over him. If she's very quiet, he'll sleep till morning. The food gets put away in the fridge for the next day, and she texts Leo to let him know Donnie is crashing at her place for the night. His reply is quick and unsurprised: _Figured he would, he's been working too hard. Thanks, April._

_Don't thank me yet,_ she thinks, watching Donnie's face. _I don't deserve it._ She brushes her knuckles down the side of Donnie's face, a touch too soft to wake him, but needing some contact, an anchor for the heavy current of love moving in her. 

She _loves_ Donnie. 

"I do, you know," she tells him, and turns out the lights. 

***

**_January 10_ **

Sometimes, April  ****smiles at Donnie like he's a marvel.  
 ****

He's never been able to figure out a way to predict when, or why, it will happen. What gets an eyeroll and a shoulder nudge one week may get stunned silence and that slow dawn of a smile the next. Donnie has spent more than a decade cataloging every species of April's smiles, from the sheepish to the vicious, down to the lazy, fond curve of her mouth when she knows she's safe and is drifting down toward sleep. But this smile is new, fierce and happy in equal measure, and he doesn't know how to classify it. 

The fact that he's the only one who ever seems to get this particular smile is an even bigger mystery. Historically, Donnie hasn't dealt well with mysteries; he's like a bloodhound, always tracking meaning and reason, the _why_ and _how_ , but this smile defies all his best efforts. He finds it at the dinner table, when he hands her a bowl of noodles. It surprises him in the dojo, when he's managed to knock her off her feet during training and reaches down to help her up. When they're on patrol, he catches a glimpse of it over Raph's head, before April turns her head and focuses on the mission. 

On New Year's Eve, the smile stayed in place almost all night. Donnie doesn't remember too much from that night, not after the jello shots and the karaoke, but he remembers April's smile, and the hot pressure of her hand in his when she tugged him up to dance. 

He can't help how his body responds to this smile, how his skin feels electrified, how his mouth goes dry, how he can't look at it for too long because it's not — it's not possible anyone would smile at him like that. Like he's worthy of notice. Worthy of praise. Worthy of — 

No. He doesn't let the thought form, because the flash of pleasure he gets from thinking about the possibility of _more_ is never balanced by the sting that follows, the ball of thorns that gathers on the back of his tongue. So he sets himself to back to the task at hand: the mystery of classification.

The smile continues to elude any kind of definition. It's a sly animal, slinking out of the shadows when he least expects it, curling under his skin. It waits for him in his lab, on a rooftop, in April's living room. 

He gives up trying to pin it down. Some mysteries are better left unsolved, and Donnie loves this smile just as it is: bright, singular, dangerous. 

_Just like April_ , he thinks, when her smile catches him off-guard as he walks her home. _My Ap — April._

_***_

**_January 24_ **

"Such pretty hair," says the woman on the train. 

April is in the middle of a text, so she barely spares the woman a glance and a thin smile before turning back to her phone. "Thanks," she says, in a tone she hopes communicates much more — specifically, _please do not speak to me, please do not ask to touch my hair, please stop staring._

The woman doesn't say anything else, much less ask to touch April's hair, but she does keep staring, smiling crookedly down at April. 

April finishes her text message ( _Sorry, Mikey, but breaking into the zoo to see the baby platypuses is most definitely a misuse of your ninja skills)_ before looking up, with an even thinner smile. 

"Can I help you?" she asks, in a voice that's made Foot and Kraang freeze in place. It's a voice that says _if you continue annoying me, they're going to find half of you in the Hudson, but only half_. The train car is mostly empty, and she makes sure her voice doesn't carry far, just to the woman's ears and no further.

The woman shakes her head. "I only want to look at you," she says, still smiling her crooked smile. "Such a pretty girl, such a pretty, pretty girl." 

Refusing to sigh or roll her eyes — the first rule of living in New York is that you do _not_ poke the crazy — April nods politely and skims her hand down her leg to make sure her tessen is still tucked into its sheath. Better safe than sorry. "Thank you," she says, standing and edging toward the door, never taking her eyes off the woman. 

Other than her smile, the woman doesn't _look_ crazy. She is — well, she's beautiful, tall and with skin the color of sugar. Her long coat is pure, snowy white, minimal lines and seamless tailoring that scream _expensive_ and _do not touch_. She smells like jasmine, too sweet and cloying in the close, hot train car, and her hair falls in a blue-black curtain on either side of her face. She's beautiful, effortlessly _beautiful_ , but there's something in the smile that sets April's teeth on edge. 

_Run, run_ , says a voice in April's head. _Don't look, just run._

April is terrible at taking orders, even after ten years of training, and so she doesn't run. She reaches out toward the woman with a tentative mental hand, and waits for the expected stark blossom of insanity to touch her mind. 

Nothing. She feels _nothing_. 

_Run,_ says the voice again, _run, do not look, run._

"So pretty, pretty," sing-songs the woman, reaching for April's hair with a long, elegant hand.

April backs away, her right hand sliding down for her tessen as her left comes up to block the woman, but she's too slow — _how can I be too slow, I've trained for years, how can I be too_ slow _? —_ and something like a needle, but too cold, too sharp, slides into the palm of her hand. 

The lights go out. 

She can't see, she can't hear, but that only frightens her. Fear she can deal with, fear she _knows_ — but she feels terror too, a vast shapeless force bearing her down, down, down to the floor, because she can't feel anything. She's alone and she's 

 

_gone_  

_***_

The woman smiles, and lets go of April's hand. The girl is already blinking away the glamour fogging her mind, and soon she will go on her way, never knowing the dark and lonely seed that has been planted in her tender flesh. 

So tender, so succulent, the girl would taste like fresh apricots and honey, like raw pink meat pulled fresh from the bone. Just a morsel, hardly to be missed, and the woman is so hungry, so very hungry. 

But she is patient too, and will wait to savor the girl. After all, there is a purpose to be served, and the game has barely begun.  

*** 

"What happened to your hand?" Donnie asks, lowering his bo with a frown. "You've been favoring it all night. Are you okay?" 

April glances down at her left hand, its fingers curled into a loose first. "It's just a little sore," she says, frowning herself, because now that Donnie's mentioned it, her hand _does_ hurt. She just can't remember why. 

"Want me to take a look?" He smiles at her, but his eyes are still worried. April knows he'll keep worrying and fussing until she gives in, so when he holds out his hand, she crosses the dojo and lets him peer at her palm, bending each finger one by one. 

For such a small, clinical touch — Donnie is in pure doctor mode, without a hint of self-consciousness — his hand around hers still makes April flush and shift from one foot to the other. They've had so little time together this month, and when he texted her to see if she wanted to practice together, she nearly threw herself down the nearest sewer tunnel, screaming _yes!_ all the way. 

_Now_? she thinks, as Donnie hums over her hand and curls her fingers back over her palm. _Is now the time?_  

"I don't see anything wrong," he says, before she decides one way or another. "No broken bones, no cuts, no nothing." He sounds slightly put-out, like every other time he hasn't been able to track down an answer immediately, if not sooner. 

"Maybe I jammed it on the train." April shrugs, a prickle of unease sliding down her back. Did she? That sounds about right; getting her hand trapped against the wall, the sudden warning ache, and now the residual soreness, right in the center of her palm. 

"Maybe," says Donnie, his frown reappearing to crease the skin between his eyes. "We can stop for the night. Might not be a bad idea to give the muscles a break. It could be nothing now, but overworking the muscles can turn out pretty bad later." 

"Yeah," says April, her mind almost — _almost_ — catching an echo. _Pretty, pretty. Such a pretty girl._ "I think — I think that's a good idea." The harder she tries to focus, the more wrong she feels, like her skin is too tight, or like there's a screw at the base of her neck, turning ever-tighter. 

_Pretty._

"Can we have some tea?" April asks, trying hard to sound normal. "I know you have some of that almond stuff down here, and —" She cuts herself off, knowing she's about to cry, not knowing _why_. _Pretty, pretty, pretty._ Instead, she just gives Donnie a pleading look, and squeezes his hand. 

Donnie's frown deepens, with furrows springing up at the corners of his mouth, but he herds her out of the dojo and into the kitchen without asking any questions. He keeps up a soft monologue as he makes them tea, something about Raph's latest ideas for upgrades to the Shellraiser and how Leo wants to change patrol routes, and the gentle current of his voice washes away the worst of the tension. By the time the tea is ready, her hands have stopped shaking, and the echoes in her head are gone. When Donnie smiles at her, worried enough to rub her back with a cool, careful hand, she smiles back, and tries not to think about smoothing away his frown with a kiss. Not the time, not the place. But soon, she promises herself. _Soon._

And by the time the tea is gone, she doesn't remember anything at all. 

***

**_January 30_ **

Donnie nearly lets Casey's call go to voicemail. He's in the middle of rewiring the Shellraiser, since Casey and Raph won the argument about ground-penetrating radar — and good for them, because they get to win without doing any of the work — and Casey is the last person he wants to talk to. 

But guilt rolls him out from under the Shellraiser, and guilt makes him turn down the music, and finally, guilt makes him answer. 

"I'm _busy_ , so unless this is important, you're getting exactly ten seconds of my time, Casey." 

"Don," says Casey. "Shut up. April went to see her dad. They wouldn't let her in." 

Donnie freezes, one elbow catching a tray of tools and sending them clattering to the floor. He winces away from the noise without really hearing it. "They _what?_ What happened? Is Kirby okay?" 

"I got no idea." Casey's breathless, his words breaking in rhythm with his footsteps. He's running, probably halfway to April's by now. "I called her to see if she wanted to go out for a run when she got back and she was all — sorry, 'scuse me! — she was all, you know." 

Donnie knows. April's temper will flare at the slightest provocation, even now, but any relapse in her father's condition triggers something deeper, a cold, white fury that freezes everything she touches. 

"The only reason they wouldn't let her see him is if he…" Donnie swallows, his throat clicking. "…is if he wouldn't remember her. If it's that bad." 

Casey's end of the line is silent except for his heavy breathing, and the distant pounding of his footsteps. "Fuck," he says, finally. "I'm almost at the subway, but it's gonna take me like forty-five minutes to get there." 

"I can be there in ten minutes," Donnie says, already pulling off his goggles. "It's dark enough, no one'll see me." 

"Got it." Casey hangs up without another word. 

*** 

He finds April on the roof of her apartment building, staring out toward the west. She's pulled herself into a tight ball, knees drawn tight to her chest with her head buried in her arms, and Donnie's heart squeezes in a sudden, painful lurch. April is so small, with her head and neck bare to the icy wind blowing over the buildings, and the urge to hold her is almost overwhelming. Donnie wants to protect her from this, more than he wants humanity or sunlight or an end to all this fighting. This wound keeps opening, never clotting, and all he can do is layer bandages on top of bandages, and hope she doesn't bleed out. 

From where he stands, he can hear her harsh, labored breathing, and again his heart lurches, pounding against the cage of his ribs. This is how April sounds when she's trying not to cry. He wishes he didn't know that sound. He wishes he could tear it out of his head. He wishes, most of all, that she didn't think she had to hide her tears even when she was alone. 

"I know you're there," April calls, without looking up. "Go the fuck away, Donnie. I'll be fine." 

_You're a terrible liar, April,_ he thinks, taking a careful step toward her. She isn't fine; she's tired and angry and so very close to broken, and none of what was done to her was right and he can't fix any of it. Worse than that, she doesn't even want him to try. 

"I said _go away_ ," she snaps, finally standing and facing him. "You don't have to come running whenever I have a bad day. I'll be _fine._ " 

"Not like this," says Donnie. His hands have never felt so empty. "You don't have to talk to me if you don't want to, but I want to make sure you're okay." 

April scoffs, rolls her eyes, folds her arms over her chest. She doesn't meet his eyes. "When am I ever going to be okay? The fight's _over_. The Kraang _left_ but they're still fucking with us. We're just their _toys._ " She throws her hands in the air, still breathing in ragged gulps. "I hate them so much— they're _in me_ , forever. I can't get away from them." 

Donnie stays still, just out of reach. If she tells him to leave one more time, he will, and so he waits for her to say it, already seeing himself swinging down the ladder and heading back to the lair. If that's what April wants, he'll give it to her.

"They said he's been having episodes again," April says instead, in a halting voice like a little girl's. " _Episodes._ What they mean is that he thinks he's a giant mutant bat, and that he keeps screaming that he's _burning_. They mean that he — he's hurting, and I can't do anything to help, because they don't know what to do." She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. "He was _fine_ a month ago. He was happy, Donnie. My dad was _happy_ and now he's just fucking crazy again. I thought I was helping him when I gave him the retromutagen but…what if I just made it worse? What if he's stuck like this because of me?" She gasps, doubling over with her hands pressed against her chest. "I wanted him to get better but it's been so long. I don't think he's ever going to be my dad again."

Donnie hates himself for being fascinated by the way April's face crumples as she starts to cry. He can't help it; he loves all of April, and even this pain is a treasure, because it's hers. There is not one part of her that he loves more than any of the others, because April is a whole, not a range of values. Not loving this ugliness in her would mean that he doesn't love her at all. 

She stumbles toward him, not furious at all but scared, tired, and half-blind from crying. Donnie's glad that his hands are empty, because his arms are open and ready when she falls into them and presses her face into the hollow of his shoulder. This is familiar ground, and he knows just how to hold her to keep her steady as she sobs out her frustration and heartache into his skin. 

It's not fixing the problem. It's not healing the wound. This is cleaning out the infection and slapping a clean bandage on top and agreeing when she says she's _fine_. 

This is all he can do. 

*** 

**_February 9_ **

Casey blows into his cupped palms, then works his hands finger by finger into his gloves. "It's cold as hell tonight," he grumbles. "Why're we out here again?" 

"Smugglers, Casey," says April. She ties her hooded scarf in place and wraps the ends around her neck. Only her eyes show, already glittering with excitement. "And it's strictly recon, no fighting unless we can help it." 

"Great." He sighs. A night without fighting, hiding in the shadows, freezing his balls off. Just how he wanted to spend his night off. "Thanks for invitin' me along, Ape." 

She kicks him in the leg. "You're the one who said we haven't been hanging out enough. Besides, Leo's the one who said to avoid fighting. Maybe we just…won't be able to." She shrugs, all innocent, all butter wouldn't melt in her mouth.

Oh, now Casey remembers why he loves April so much. "God, that'd be awful, if we just _had_ to fight." 

"The worst," April agrees with a wink. She swings out of the van, already flicking her tessen impatiently. "We'll have a good vantage point on the roof," she says. "Lots of vents to hide behind, and no one'll see the van. We'll scope them out, I'll get Donnie on the line once we have a headcount, then we can let Leo decide what happens next." 

"Works for me." Casey slides the van door closed as silently as he can, then slips his mask over his face. Fuck, but it is _cold_ out tonight. "How we gonna get to the roof?" 

April points. "There's a ladder. Think you can handle climbing three stories?" 

"I can handle it," he tosses back. "Ladies first. Just don't fall, 'cause I'm not catching your dumb ass if you do." 

"Such a sweet-talker," April purrs, and grabs the first rung.


End file.
